


Grouchy

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humour, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10065047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: Mycroft Holmes wants everyone to think he's the Ice Man, distant and unemotional. But there's something that he loves more than cake.





	

When he was a boy, Mycroft discovered the dangers of caring. Having seen how emotional attachment destroyed Sherlock's early childhood, he swore to become the cold, dispassionate, aloof man who could not be hurt or taken advantage of. It was bad enough to have a troublesome, immature younger brother who always needed his protection. Mycroft would not have any more pressure points.

The Ice Man persona was so convincing that even his own family believed in it. They stopped asking when he would bring home some lovely person, knowing how much he loathed unnecessary human interaction. He was contemptuous of most people and concealed it only enough to avoid unpleasant consequences. He wanted to be perceived as an unemotional machine, someone incapable of loving. Solitude was his only defence.

Of course, various people attempted melting the ice around his heart. Their motivation was not only of romantic nature, Sherlock, for instance, considered it a challenge. He would love to find something that Mycroft loved to use it as a leverage in their constant feuding. He would surprise Mycroft with random gifts, hoping to elicit a satisfying reaction from his brother. Once he gave Mycroft a set of umbrella-shaped biscuit cutters. How clever and naïve.

'Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock. I hate baking and I hate umbrellas,' Mycroft explained coolly, enjoying the look of bewilderment on Sherlock's face. 

'You're lying,' Sherlock accused in desperation. He couldn't accept defeat, that silly deduction master. He surely spent quite a lot of time searching for those cutters and now felt like an idiot. Well, at least he got the taste of his own medicine, most of his acquaintances felt the same way in his presence.

'An occasional sweet treat is not my weakness, Sherlock, only a little reward for not using my extraordinary mental abilities to take over the world. And my brolly, as you should have realised, is a concealed weapon. Honestly, you ought to work on your deduction skills, little brother,' Mycroft said in his usual condescending tone that Sherlock hated with passion.

'This is not over, I will discover your secret weak point, trust me, Mikey,' Sherlock retorted angrily.

 

It was a balmy early spring day, not a single cloud in the clear blue sky. As any Brit, Mycroft felt obliged to go outside and absorb as much natural light as possible before the weather changed. If asked, those who knew him would say his favourite season was late autumn, that dark part of the year when the fallen leaves are black and the skies are grey, that depressing period before Christmas or the beginning of the year, the sad dry January. Nobody suspected he loved spring.

He was in his garden, smoking a cigarette. Not a single flower in sight, only the perfectly mowed lawn. He strolled lazily, basking in the unusual warmth, wondering how soon the rain would return. Something white caught his eye. He squatted down to see it better. A single, fragile snowdrop. He looked around, checking if anyone was lurking in the shadows, spying on him, then reached out and let his fingers brush against the delicate white petals. That was his real pressure point, his secret love. Flowers. In the perfect world, he would be a gardener or a florist. How calming and lovely it would be to spend his days tending to flowers. Watching something beautiful grow thanks to him, repeating the daily ritual of watering and weeding, seeing the vibrant colours and smelling the sweet scent of blooming flowers, how simple and happy his life would be then. Stress-free and full of uncomplicated joy.

He stood up and crushed the snowdrop with his shoe. He loved flowers but would hate it for anybody to find out about that.

**Author's Note:**

> Mycroft is Grouchy Smurf and you know it.


End file.
